Something Worth Fighting For
by Verdreht
Summary: What would've happened if Will had come back before the events of Something Worth Fighting For? Why is he back, and how will Will handle fighting beside the man that helped ruin his life? Eventual Will/Guy - it makes sense, I promise.
1. Chapter 1

"Are you sure it's come this way?" Guy said.

Robin gave a soft, resigned chuckle and stepped back, gesturing to the ground beneath his feet. "Have a look for yourself. The dirt's only just settled – something big's passed this way no more than a day ago."

It wasn't that Guy didn't trust Robin's expertise in the matter…he just trusted his own far more.

Crouching down in the spot Robin had only just vacated, Guy examined the tracks. He traced the indentions in the dirt with his fingers, rubbing it between his calloused digits. After a moment's careful scrutiny, he dusted off his hands and rose. Robin stood behind him, watching, and just a few paces away, Much, Tuck, Allan, and John were waiting.

"A cart," he said. "One bearing more weight than the standard traveler."

That piqued Allan's interest. "A supply cart?"

"Could be," said Robin. "Or it could be something else."

"Like what?"

"I dunno, Much."

"But you said you heard about it."

Guy watched with a mix of annoyance and amusement as Robin turned to Much, a look of tenuous patience on his face. "I heard there would be a shipment passing this way. They never said what the shipment was _of_," he said.

Folding his arms across his chest, Much frowned. He looked like a child, Guy thought. "For all you know, couldn't it just be a shipment of trousers or something?"

"Or it could be a shipment of gold," Tuck said. "Either way, it is a shipment from the Sheriff, and we can assume it will not benefit the people. Cloth or coin, it is our job to see that it will."

"Well, when you put it like that…" Allan shrugged. "Let's move on, then. North, yeah, towards the castle?"

Guy was already walking that direction when Robin and the others fell in.

Much dragged his feet as he went, and finally, he just stopped. "Robin…we've been moving for hours…."

Guy paused, his amusement from before long gone; it was replaced only with frustration. Much had been whining for miles, now, he was getting tired of it.

Just a little down the road, Robin looked back at Much from his place at the edge of an embankment. "Much."

But Much went on as if he hadn't heard. "We're never going to catch up to the cart at this pace."

"Much…"

"We'd be better off just nicking it in town. Why don't we just go back to the hideout and I'll cook us a nice—"

"Much!"

Much started, and finally, he pursed his lips and went quiet.

Robin looked satisfied with the silence, but Guy noticed he didn't look altogether pleased. His discontent seemed to come from something else, though. "We found it," he said. That was the only warning he gave before he stepped off the side of the embankment, sliding down the mud and the leaves until he reached the road just below.

Just ahead on the road, a cart was overturned. The horses had gone – probably four of them, going on the size – but other creatures lingered.

People. There were people around the cart, in rags and chains.

"Slaves," Guy said as Robin, John, and Tuck hurried to the people. "A shipment of slaves." He frowned. This did not bode well. "Be on your guard."

Allan paused in the middle of helping a young man out of his chains to look at Guy. "What for, mate? They're hardly gonna hurt us."

"And do you think they were escorting themselves?" No, Guy imagined there would be about a dozen of them with a convoy that size.

That seemed to throw a stick in Allan's nonchalance. He waited until he'd finished getting the manacles off the would-be slave to sit back on his heels. It seemed like a key had already been making its way around before they arrived, because most of the people were already free.

"I'm not being funny, but he's got a point. Where have the guards gone?"

"I think I've found one."

Everyone looked over to where Tuck knelt on the ground. Lying in front of him was a corpse in mail and Nottingham colors. Robin was the first over, and Guy was in tail as Allan and Much continued getting the last of the slaves free.

"There's hoof prints," Robin said. "A good five or six sets." He stood and walked back over to the slaves. There was one on his feet, a man around middle age, looked to be heading the group, and Robin made his way over to him.

Guy followed him, though he was content to let Robin do the talking; he was not the sort to comfort the victims. That was not his _role_ in this merry band of thieves.

"What's your name?" Robin said.

The man look startled – surprised – but he told him. "Lyle."

"Can you tell me what happened here, Lyle?"

"They were bringing us for the castle. Some of us were meant for the mines, though – the Turks, mostly. Not many of them, there were, but enough to make the guards antsy. Shouldn't have been looking at the Turks, though; was an Englishman what gave 'em the slip."

That caught Guy's attention. "Someone broke you out? One man?" That was practically unheard of. Even Robin's outlaws had trouble, and there had been five of them.

But Lyle nodded. "Sure enough. A bloke not much older than my boy back home, now's I'm thinking about it. Managed to nick himself a key from the guards and passed it on."

"And where is he now?"

"He took one of the horses. Got his hands on a blade and cut it right off the carriage; nearly upended the thing. He rode off shouting about something that got the guards on him. Every last one of them, save the one what got trampled by a horse."

That would be the one Tuck had found.

Guy could see the conflict play out on Robin's face. He needed to take care of these people, but from the sounds of things, there was another person in need of his help.

Then, his jaw set; his decision had been made. "Much, Tuck, see these people to Locksley. See that they're given food from our stores and a bed to rest in until we can get them sorted out. Allan, Guy, John, I'll need the two of you with me."

Guy raised an eyebrow. "What's in your head, Robin?"

If Robin noticed Guy's skepticism, he didn't show it. Instead, he smiled, shouldering his bow.

"We've got a hero to save."

As it turned out, though, it wasn't the hero they ran into first. No, they made it only a few miles before they found themselves staring at a small horde of the Sheriff's men. Three were on horseback, nine more on foot.

"Maybe the bloke got away," Allan said. When the others looked at him, he shrugged defensively. "What? They're not exactly in hot pursuit then, are they/"

He wasn't wrong. The men were moving along slowly, looking around like they were trying to find something.

"Well, whoever this bloke is, he's a crafty one," John said. There was appreciation in his voice; all of the outlaws could admire a good getaway. Even Guy wasn't scowling quite so deeply as he usually was. "Those blokes don't look to know up from down."

He'd no sooner said that than a twig snapped. There was no way of telling whose foot it had snapped under – Guy knew it wasn't his, at the very least – but the effect was the same. In the relative silence of the forest, the sound was nearly cacophonous; at least, it felt that way.

Every _single_ head in the horde turned towards them, and there was no way they could've missed them.

"Maybe they don't know up from down.," Robin said, "but looks like they know us well enough."

Allan swallowed deeply. "Do we run, or do we fight?"

As he spoke, though, the guards all drew their weapons and ran at them.

With just the barest hint of a smirk on his face, Guy drew his own sword. _This_ was his role. "Doesn't look like we've got much choice."

"Well, then," Robin smiled and leveled his bow. "If it's a fight they want, it's a fight they'll get."

And a fight they did get. All of them; not just the guards. They'd managed to get the men off their horses, but with twelve to their four, it wasn't so easy a fight as they might've liked.

There were seven left standing, but they were wearing out. Guy himself was trying to fight two of them, but they'd managed to back him into a corner. It was a matter of unforced error that he lost his blade; one of the guards managed to knock it away from him. He managed to duck the next swing, but it meant moving away from the blade. His back hit something solid, and he knew he'd met a tree.

The others were too busy; Robin was taking on two of the guards, same as Allan, and John was fighting to get one of the men off the horse he'd managed to scramble back onto. There was no one he could look to for help, and the man was readying another swing.

It seemed to Guy as though it was time to make his peace. He had two men to fight and nothing to fight them with. The circumstance wasn't favorable, to say the least.

But then…circumstances changed in the form of a sword that intercepted the guard's just before it had an unfortunate meeting with Guy's neck. Guy immediately dove for his sword, tucking into a roll and rising to his feet at the last second.

With a quick parry and thrust, he freed himself up to get a look at his impromptu savior. He had been right in thinking it wasn't one of his own men. No, it seemed to him like they'd found the stranger. He was a tall thing, though not quite so tall as Guy and far lankier…almost coltish. His movements were trained enough, though; quick and sharp and precise like nothing Guy had ever seen before.

Only…that wasn't quite right. He knew that form…he'd seen it before, maybe once or twice. Not enough to know anything of consequence, but enough to have a notion. The chaos didn't give him much time to think of it; the very next instant, the stranger was off to help Allan, and he set about divesting Robin of his second man.

After that, the tides were turned. With an extra man, and them a man down, the fight went far easier, until at long last, all the men were down. As John set about tying them up, Guy watched Robin turn to the stranger. He was standing over at the edge of the road, liberating one of the soldiers of his sword belt. Guy almost laughed at the idea – a guard that big, the belt would be more likely to pull the stranger's trousers down than to hold them up.

Robin's voice drew him out of his thoughts.

"Hey, mate," Robin said as he clapped a hand to the stranger's shoulder, "thank you for the—Will?"

Guy recognized that name, and as the stranger turned around, he found he recognized the face, too. He'd seen it before, more than the odd occasion. Sharp features, almost elvish…young…he was one of Robin's band, only he hadn't seen him around since the Holy Land. Will…Will Scarlett, he thought it was. The young one. The quiet one.

"We've got to stop meeting like this," Will said in that perfectly deadpan way of his. There was a spark to his eyes, though, a glimmer of amusement.

The clever one, too, apparently.

Robin grinned in turn. "Come here, you," he said, pulling the smaller man into a firm hug. It amazed him how, even next to an average-sized man like Robin, this _Will_ could look so small. Just looking at him, Guy might've thought him fragile, only he knew now he _had_ seen him fight. He recalled him being quite handy with a couple of axes, taking down more than a few of his supposedly-trained men back when he was working for the Sheriff.

Robin let him go, only insofar as to hold him out at arm's length to get a look at him. "It's good to see you again."

"It's good to be seen again," said Will. Guy wasn't sure he'd heard him speak before; mostly it was all the others doing the talking. It was a shame; it wasn't nearly as grating as he'd thought the others' to be.

Still, though, casual as it sounded, he heard something underneath the voice. He was no expert, and he didn't particularly care either way, but there was an edge…something deeper to the words that Guy couldn't quite peg.

There were other things that were far more simple to understand, however. The haggard look about him, the dark circles under his bright eyes…the smudge of color on his cheek just a little too blue to be dirt.

He didn't get long to make his observations, though. Just as those things began to appear to him, Will _disappeared_ behind a wall of black.

"Great God, lad, you're back!" John said, hugging Will so fiercely that he nearly took him off his feet. If Will had looked small before, he hardly looked like more than a child, now.

"Well, don't crush him, John," said Allen as he came up behind, but when John let him down, he hugged him just as tight.

Robin watched the whole affair with a grin on his face, his arms folded across his chest. "Now who's crushing him?"

"Perhaps if he was thicker than a branch, it wouldn't be a problem," Guy said dryly.

It was as if everyone had forgotten he was there – he didn't doubt it, and he didn't blame them, really – and had suddenly remembered. They all turned, but it seemed they had gotten used to him being around.

Will wasn't quite so well-adjusted. The young man immediately went on guard, his blade drawn and leveled at Guy. Handy as he was with an ax, it looked to Guy like he knew his way around a sword as well. That look on his face, too…it was a dark look. One that didn't look like it belonged on such a young face.

It reminded him too much of the face he saw in the mirror.

"What's he doing here?" The smooth English tenor of the young man's voice had lowered a level, grown harsher.

Robin caught his sword arm. "Easy, Will," he said. "He's with us, now."

Will didn't make any move to lower his blade beyond what Robin had forced, and his eyes stayed just as fixed.

"_Will_." Robin's words were neither forceful nor harsh, just…firm. Guy watched Will's eyes flick over to him, questioningly. He wasn't sure; he wasn't certain. But Robin nodded, and after a long, tense moment, he lowered his sword. Satisfied, Robin looked to Guy. He gestured for Guy to come over, and Guy saw no reason not to.

He left a good two arm's length between them; Will was still holding a sword, and heartless as people seemed to think, he had no desire to alarm this man further. He'd saved his life; the least he could do was respect his personal space.

All the same, he held out a hand. A show of good faith, since explaining his change to the light side would take far longer than he cared to spend in the woods.

Will hesitated. Normally, shaking Guy's hand would mean dropping his sword, but he looked to be a southpaw, from the way he was holding that sword. He could still hold his sword, and he still did as finally, he reached out and took Guy's hand.

He had a firm grip, Guy noticed, however uncertain he was.

But that wasn't the only thing he noticed. In shaking Guy's hand, his sleeve had ridden up. Not much, but around the cuff, he could see just a sliver of something. The skin looked…raw. Welted.

He'd no sooner caught sight of it, though, than Will was pulling his hand back. Guy let him – generally, a wise man didn't do things that might make an armed man uneasy – and with Robin's peacekeeping needs apparently appeased, he watched the leader of the group clap Will on the shoulder.

"He wasn't wrong, though, mate. You're skin and bones. What say you we get some food in you, aye?"

And just like that, that grin came creeping back up on Will's face. "Sounds brilliant."


	2. Chapter 2

"John, see if you can't find Will something to eat," Robin said as they made their way into the hideout. John nodded and made for the kitchen to round up some food.

Will paused when he stepped in, looking around with a smile on his face like he was greeting an old friend. "You're still using it," he said.

Robin grinned and clapped him on the shoulder. "Of course we are, Will. You did a brilliant job with it."

That came as some surprise to Guy. "You built this?"

"Every last nail," said Allan with a big grin. There was pride in that smile, like a big brother bragging on his prodigal kin.

Not that Guy had ever had much experience in the proud sibling arena.

Something seemed to strike Allan, then, though, because his eyes went wide. "Oh, hang on, mate. I've got something for you."

With that, he turned and ran off into the hideout, leaving Robin and Will standing in the middle of the hideout. Guy had walked past them when Allan left, over to the stool by the grindstone. Those men's armor had left a few pretty chinks in his sword and Guy never could stand to have a dull sword.

Still, the grindstone wasn't far away. Robin stood with Will just a few feet away, and though Guy kept his head down, he didn't have it in him to ignore the conversation entirely. Color him curious.

"So," Robin said, "how's Djaq doing?"

If he hadn't been curious before, now his interest was thoroughly piqued. Not by the question, but by Will's reaction to it. It was as though a weight had fallen over him, weighing down his shoulders and bowing his head. He only caught it in glances, but he could tell something was wrong. He'd seen that look before, far too many times; it was another look he'd born himself.

It was only a matter of seconds before Robin came to the same conclusion Guy had. He was, after all, the second man Guy could think of that might know a little of that weight that was pulling young Will down.

As realization settled in, the weight seemed to spread. Robin let out a sigh, and a glance up through his shadowed bangs revealed a miserable sort of look on his face. "God, Will, I'm so sorry." His voice was barely more than a whisper, but Guy was close enough that he could still hear it. Out of respect for their privacy, he pretended not to, but he couldn't help the way his eyes kept wandering up. "How did it happen?"

Will didn't say anything; instead, he reached into the pocket of his trousers and pulled something out. A scrap of fabric, about the size of his hand and tattered.

He held it out, and Robin took it; as it changed hands, Guy got a real look at it. He could have snarled. He knew that insignia, just as well as he knew the rust-colored flecks that had spread across its surface. It was Prince John's mark…and it was covered in blood.

Had Guy been a betting man, he would've wagered that blood belonged to this _Djaq_. Especially as he watched Robin's face harden.

Will, for his part, showed no signs of such emotion. His face was carefully blank – another fine work of craftsmanship, Guy thought – even as Robin pulled him into an embrace. When he released him, the older of the two was frowning.

"That's why you've come back, then?"

"He _will_ pay for what he's done, Robin," Will said.

Guy noticed it wasn't really an answer to the question.

Robin, however, nodded. "He will pay," he said. "But Will…I'm glad you're alright."

It was all Guy could do not to snort. Alright, he'd said. Alright…what about that _boy_ looked "alright?" There was life in him, sure enough; Guy could tell he was strong. But he was only human, and unless Guy had misread the conversation – and given his personal experience in the matter, he doubted he had – the woman he loved was dead. Probably one of Prince John's countless victims...no amount of fire in his eyes could hide the pain from that.

Guy felt something odd twinge in his chest. Sympathy…empathy, even. He'd felt that pain, and he wouldn't with it on anyone.

Well, almost anyone. And the people he would wish it on…he doubted they could love a person enough to suffer their passing properly.

"If you like," Robin said, "I can tell the others."

Will didn't say anything, he just gave a short bob of his head that might've been a nod. Robin, at the very least, seemed to understand it, and he gave Will one last firm squeeze on his shoulder.

Right about that time, John and Allan found their respective ways over. Both were carrying something: John, a plate with bread, cheese, and fruit and a cup of what Guy assumed was water; Allan, what looked to be a leather belt of some sort.

Allan gave his gift first, and Guy saw when Will took it that he'd been right. It was a belt, only it wasn't suited for swords. Instead, a smallish hatchet was attached at the left side, and in Allan's other hand, he held the matching larger ax. Guy remembered those axes; he remembered seeing them take down quite a few of his men. Instinctively, his nerves tightened, but he forced them back. He was on their side, now; they were no longer his enemies.

Besides, the way Will's face lit up when he saw the axes helped ease the tension. His youth really showed then – like a child getting a gift.

"Might take a little conditioning on the leather, but it's better than that jump rope you're sporting now," Allan said.

"It'll do in a pinch," Will said in return, a teasing sort of lilt to the words. It was a sharp contrast to what he'd seen only moments ago. The sadness wasn't gone, but there was happiness, too. Guy might've thought him fickle, shifting like that, but it struck him as something far more…mature. Someone that knew how to roll with the punches and take his delights where he could come by them.

That, Guy could respect.

"Don't suppose you've kept any of my old clothes lying around, have you?"

"Matter of fact, we've still got that old chest you made," said John. He sat the plate and cup on the squat little table that fashioned as their dining room, and started off.

Will tried to stop him. "I can get it," he said. "You don't have to."

But John just waved him off. "Nonsense, lad. You sit and eat. I'll be back in two winks."

"No, really, I—" It was a lost cause, and Will knew it just as well as the rest of them did. He sighed, but it was a fond sort of smile as he sunk down onto one of the cushions in front of the table. It was rather remarkable how graceful he was, what with those colt legs of his. "I'd forgotten how thick he could be."

"Give the man his dues. He's not gotten to look after you for a year. He missed you; we all did."

Will looked up at Robin. "If he's missed me so much, why's he got to keep running off?"

"Nervous energy," Allan said almost conspiratorially, before a cuff to the back of his head knocked it forward.

"I'll show you nervous energy," said John. He was standing back with them, a trunk balanced on his hip like it weighed nothing more than a satchel of feathers. The deep thud when he sat it down said otherwise. "There you are, lad. All your and Djaq's things, just as you left them. Well, sort of, anyway. We gathered up your tools; they were lying about all over the place, and we didn't want them getting lost. We meant to ship them to you; I suppose we just never got around to it."

From the smile on Will's face, it seemed safe to say the transgression was forgiven. He went to open the chest, but John put a massive hand on it, holding it closed. Will's brows furrowed, and he looked up in confusion.

Robin chuckled. "Tsk tsk, Will, not 'till you've had your supper," he said.

It became very apparent to Guy right then, Will's place in the pack. He was the baby. A child to John, a brother to the others. They really were as a family, and they'd just been reunited with the youngest of their brood. Mothering and teasing abound.

Guy almost felt sorry for him.

Will, however, seemed to have no qualms with Robin's condition for the release of the chest. Just looking at him, anyone with eyes and half a mind to speak of could tell he was hungry, and he certainly acted the part as he tucked into the food John had brought for him. Guy wasn't really sure whether to call it eating or _inhaling_, with how fast he was going.

As focused as he was on his food, though, Guy noticed him cut his eyes towards the entrance as a newcomer entered the hideout.

Tuck looked a little out of breath as he came into the hideout, and Guy stood. Usually, when Tuck came running, it was a bad sign, so he slid his newly-sharpened sword into its sheathe and got ready to move out.

However, instead of launching into his report of some trouble that needed resolving, Tuck paused. His eyes fell on Will sitting at the table, and he looked back to Robin. "Who's our new friend?" he said, and beneath the civility, there was more than a faint hint of suspicion.

Robin immediately made for the introductions, and Guy let out the breath he'd been holding. If there was an emergency, it wasn't quite so urgent, so he leaned back against one of the pillars, content to watch the conversation continue with a passing interest.

"Brother Tuck, this is Will Scarlett. Will, this is Tuck."

"So you're the man behind the masterpiece," Tuck said, his suspicion fading into a far more welcoming smile. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

When Tuck offered his hand, Will didn't take it immediately. There was no distrust in his eyes, but he was set on edge. Still, he took the man's hand and they shook.

"The pleasure's mine," said Will as he released the holy man's hand. Tuck nodded in turn, and then set, apparently, to the business he'd come to do.

"We've run into a bit of trouble in Locksley," he said. "They were welcoming enough of most of the slaves, but the Turks are making them uneasy. A few have threatened to send for the Sheriff."

Everyone tensed at the mention of the Sheriff, but Guy especially. The last thing Locksley needed was a visit from his venomous little snake that was his sister. Any mention of her name was enough to agitate him to fury; the thought of her undoing their work in helping the slaves only made it worse.

Tuck went on. "Kate and Much are trying to keep them calm for now, but I fear we might be needed soon."

Robin frowned, his face thoughtful. No doubt he was working through a plan. "Allan, John, and I will come with you," he said finally. "Will, I want you to stay behind."

Will looked up indignantly. "Why?"

"You're exhausted, Will," said Robin. There was patience in his voice, but he was firm in his words. "You'll be of more use to us when you're well-rested and supped. We'll send for you if we need you, but there's no sense in you travelling farther without rest."

"And me?" Guy said. He thought perhaps it might have been an omission. Robin had been fairly good at incorporating him in their plans, but he had only just joined them a week or so ago.

But Robin shook his head. "If the aim is to calm the people, I think it might be best if you weren't with us," he said.

He had a point.

"You can stay here as well. Keep an eye on the roads. If we aren't back tonight, see to it that you keep track of the North road. We can't let Prince John benefit from our distraction. Will can join you once he's able."

Will grew even more indignant. "Oi," he said, "I'm fighting fit."

Everyone looked at him with varying degrees of skepticism, but Allan was the first to say anything. "I'm not being funny, mate, but you act like you haven't eaten in days," he said.

Taking another bite of his bread, Will scoffed. "I haven't."

A frown furrowed on Tuck's brows. At first, Guy thought he was just as put off by the idea of Will going without food for days as the rest of them. He figured out soon after that there was more to it, though. Not just human sympathy, but scholarly concern. For some reason unbeknownst to Guy, Tuck knelt down in front of the table and reached for the plate.

What was really perplexing, though, was not Tuck's actions, but Will's _re_action.

Almost violently, Will flinched back, and it didn't escape anyone's notice how his hand went for the ax resting on the floor beside him. Least of all Tuck's.

The priest raised his hands peacefully. "My apologies, friend. I didn't mean to startle you." And he looked genuinely apologetic, if a little more concerned than before.

Will, for his part, looked torn between nervousness and embarrassment. He shook his head and smiled sheepishly. "Just a little jumpy," he said. "Sleeping on the road."

Somehow, Guy got the impression there was more to it than that. He wondered if it had something to do with the welts he'd seen on his wrist, because together, they painted quite a picture – a picture that told a far different story than the one Will had volunteered.

"I understand, and I should have said my peace first. I meant to tell you it's unwise, eating so much if your stomach has gone so long without food. You'll make yourself sick. Best stick with broths and bread for a day or so."

"Right…" Will still looked a little out of sorts as he sat back from the table.

Maybe Robin knew something that Guy didn't; maybe he just knew Will better, but he didn't call him on that deer-in-sights look. "We're moving out," he said. "Are you going to be okay here with Gisborne?"

"Are you asking do I think he'll kill me, or do I plan to kill him?"

"Either."

Will shrugged.

Guy wasn't entirely sure what that meant, but he couldn't be bothered to ask. Robin and them were already heading, anyhow; it didn't seem worth stopping them. Instead, he watched as Tuck left, then Robin. Allan and John each had to give Will's head a ruffle before they could leave, but after a long moment, it was just Guy and Will in the hideout.

With a sigh, Guy sat back down in front of the grindstone.

Brilliant.


	3. Chapter 3

Guy had to get out of there. It wasn't that Will was annoying him or anything; quite the opposite, actually. He hadn't done _anything_. Hadn't said a word, hadn't stepped on his toes. He didn't even seem to have any particularly annoying habits. He'd just politely waited until Guy finished with the grindstone to sit down in front of it and set to work sharpening the axes Allan had given him.

The ax gave him an idea, though, and he glanced over at the firewood rack to see that it was nearing empty. He would go get wood, and perhaps by the time he got back, Will would have run out of ways to creatively avoid him.

Just as he made it to the mouth of the hideout, though, he was stopped.

"Where are you going?"

He turned around to see Will staring at him. He'd paused in whatever it was he was doing with that belt of his – probably cinching another hole in the damn thing, from the look of him – and was looking at Guy with a curious sort of look.

Guy pointed the ax in his hand at the nearly-empty thing of firewood. "It needs refilling."

Will went back to working at the leather, and Guy thought for a moment that he'd been dismissed, but then he spoke again. "It's going to rain soon." Not a criticism, just an observation, but it was said so matter-of-factly Guy couldn't help asking,

"Awfully apt prediction. I don't see any clouds out."

Shrugging, Will didn't so much as raise his eyes from his work. As he watched him, Guy noticed how sure those hands were. Long fingers, calloused fingers, but the way they worked with those tools was as graceful as a painter with a brush. "Smells like rain."

Briefly, Guy considered demanding what that even _meant_. Smelled like rain…he knew of charged air and strong wind, but in all his years, he had never _smelled_ the rain. And here this hardly-more-than-a-boy of a man was saying as surely as if he were saying the sky was blue.

But then he realized he wasn't being cryptic. At least, it didn't sound like he was. It wasn't said with any trace of enigma, any sort of mystery. It just…was. And since he wasn't in the trade of beating dead horses, he saw no point in demanding an explanation. Instead, he rolled his eyes and headed out into the forest.

Less than an hour later, Guy was tying his haul when he felt something on his face. Something cold. Something small.

Something wet.

"You've got to be kidding me…"

He'd no sooner spoken the words than the sky seemed to open up. Raindrops the size of buckets fell in torrents, and Guy's hair was matted to his face in a matter of moments as he grabbed up his firewood and ran.

He might as well have walked the whole way; by the time he made it back, he was soaked through to the skin. Annoyed was edging its way towards livid, and he was more than ready to rake Will over the coals if he so much as _thought_ the words "I told you so."

As he entered the hideout and dropped his now-dropping wood near the stack, he saw Will's smile and started to draw in the breath to do just that. He wasn't laughing or anything, but there was amusement dancing in those blue eyes of his, and that was enough.

In point of fact, Guy nearly drew his sword when Will pulled back his arm and threw something at him. It wasn't until he caught it, inches from his face, and felt the fabric on his fingers that he realized what it was. A blanket. Will had thrown him a blanket.

"There's more out in the back," he said. "Thought you might be needing them." As he spoke, the amusement in his eyes did nothing to detract from the sincerity in his voice, and all thoughts of a rant faded from Guy's mind, leaving nothing but gaping silence in their wake. He could only imagine, if it had been Allan or Robin, or even Tuck sitting in Will's place, how big of a laugh they would be having at his expense.

But here was this relative stranger – this _boy_, who by all rights should hate him – preparing blankets for him.

"But I did tell you so."

Guy saw the teasing, almost jovial edge to that grin on his face, and he felt something spark in his chest.

And then he threw the blanket at him.

True to his word, Will really had put out some blankets for him in the back. Guy quickly shed the sodden clothes he'd been wearing, drying off as best he could with one of the blankets before tugging on a dry set of braies and trousers. Nothing could be done for his boots; they would have to dry in their own town.

He grabbed a shirt and started back into the main room partition of the hideout, but Will was nowhere to be seen. Guy could tell he'd tended the fire. It had started to get cold out, and the chill was seeping in; the fire was doing a much better job keeping it at bay now. The only question was where he'd gotten off to.

Of course, then he looked up. Somehow, Will had managed to squirrel himself up to the top of the hideout. He was laying flat on his back atop one of the supports on the top, and was working very intently on something. It wasn't until Guy looked down and saw the puddle on the ground, then back up to the _lack_ of water coming in that he realized what the lanky man was doing.

He was patching leaks. Guy looked on incredulously. He'd only gotten back to the camp that day, and he was doing bloody maintenance work. And loads of it, it looked like. Now that he'd gotten to thinking about it, most of the usual leaks were dry as bones.

Scratch that, _all_ of the leaks.

"You're handy, I'll give you that," Guy said, staring up at him. To himself – and _only_ to himself – he'd give him more than that. He was handy, clever, and in all honesty, he was actually starting to grow on him. He had this dry, quiet sort of humor. A playfulness just reserved enough to make it worth reaching for rather than something that needed to be restrained.

Needless to say, Guy'd had a lot of time to think while he was out looking for firewood.

Will slid the last of his tools back in the belt on his waist. The same one he'd seen him fixing earlier. Christ, the man had been busy while Guy was out.

"Now that you mention it, I could use a hand," he said.

Guy looked at him dubiously. "I'm no carpenter."

"And I'm no cat."

A blank look from Guy.

"I don't always land on my feet," Will said by way of explanation.

That made more sense. Good thing, too, because he wasn't going to get much chance to figure it out from the looks of things. Will pulled himself up into a crouch on the top rail. Cat or no, he was surprisingly agile as he stepped down to the lower one. He wasn't more than a head's height off the ground anymore, and when he stepped down to the next one—

Guy retracted his previous assertion of agility. Will's foot went out from under him, and the very next moment, Guy found himself looking down at where the youth had fallen flat on his back on the ground. Leafs fluttered up around him, and he looked decidedly dazed for a moment.

Then he laughed.

Guy looked at him strangely. "You hit your head," he said.

"No, I didn't."

"Then you're mad. I was trying to give you the benefit of the doubt."

"It was funny," Will said. "You've got to admit. Like watching a jester hit himself with his juggling pins. Allan got plenty of kicks that way when I was building this place."

"Some friend."

Will shrugged, still looking up at Guy from his spot on the ground. "I figure a man can laugh at his friends all he wants, so long as he's willing to give them a hand up after."

The comment struck Guy as oddly…understanding, especially for someone that age. Without thinking, he stuck his hand out and helped the younger man to his feet. It wasn't until Will smiled at him that he realized what he'd done, and then he was too dumbstruck to say anything.

Luckily, Will seemed to have found his voice where Guy had lost his. "Suppose that makes you my friend," he said.

"You're quick to jump to conclusions, aren't you?"

Another one-sided shrug. "Perhaps. But you're alright by Robin and the others."

"And you're willing to put your whole confidence in them?" The thought actually incensed Guy. "Have you no mind of your own?"

His tone was sharp, but Will just set his jaw and bore it. "I trust them," he said firmly. "They are my family, and they're far wiser men than I. But yeah, Gisborne, I've a mind of my own. I've a mind not to trust you. Honestly, I've a mind to kill you…everything you did to my family and me. But that'd make me just as miserable and vile as the people I'm against." A little of the hardness left his face, then. "Besides, you do anything funny, I can still kill you."

"Can you, now?" Guy had to admit he admired Will's fire. He had life in him, and that wasn't something there was a lot of in the world those days.

Will nodded. "But I'd rather not have to face Robin after."

"A truce, then?"

"Truce."

Only, when Guy went to shake his hand, he realized he hadn't let go of it since he helped him up. He didn't know what was worse: that he hadn't noticed then…or that he didn't mind it now.

Either way, he was quick to let go. "I'm going to eat," he said, turning and making for the kitchen.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Will staring after him for a second, but then the youth turned back around. He didn't say where he was going or what he was doing – something told Guy he was even less the talkative sort than Guy himself was – but if Guy had to take a wager, he'd say it had something to do with carpentry, the way he was holding those tools. As he walked, though, something caught Guy's eye…he craned his head a little to watch him go. That was odd, he thought.

Because he could've sworn Will was limping.


	4. Chapter 4

Guy was tending the fire when he saw Will looking out from the door of the hideout again. It was easily the fifth time in the last two hours. Sighing, he rose, walking a few steps to lean his arm against one of the low-hanging supports that crossed just above head-level.

"I don't think watching for them will make them come any faster," he said.

"If they're coming at all," Will said, his eyes still fixed ahead on the darkness outside. The rain made for a loud, steady roar outside, and the only light that seemed to come from outside was the occasional flash of lightning. "Weather like this...might be stuck in Locksley."

"So, you acknowledge the weather is bad enough to keep the others inside, and yet you insist on standing in it." He snorted to himself. "And here I was, thinking you were clever."

Will turned around to him, and sure enough, his clothes seemed to stick to him from the rain that had soaked through them. His hair was similarly flat, not that he seemed to care. He'd gone outside once already, claiming that there was a leak that he could only patch properly from the outside. Guy'd toyed with the idea of stopping him, but he was an adult, and as long as he wouldn't be doing any beam-walking, Guy was confident he could manage.

Now, though, with the cool nearly enough to solidify Guy's breath in front of his face, it seemed to him it was time to get the young outlaw out of the rain.

"You thought I was clever?" Will said.

"_Thought_. That was before you went out in the rain."

"You would rather the rain came in here to us?"

He had a point.

Rather than admitting that, though, Guy just rolled his eyes and pushed off the beam. "Close the door and dry yourself off. It's late, and I'm done playing nursemaid. Time to sleep."

That got Will's attention, and he reached up to pull the door down. The sound of the rain was substantially quieted with the change, and now that the wind had been blocked out, it was far warmer as well.

Not that Will seemed to care about any of that. "Nursemaid?" he said. His voice still had that same reserved quality, but Guy could hear the indignation in it well enough. "I'm no child."

"Of course. I only need to scold you for playing the rain and keep you from climbing on tall surfaces. Nothing like a nursemaid at all."

"I don't need looking after, Gisborne. You and yours saw to that."

There was no missing the bite in those words. The indignation was gone, replaced by a restrained anger that made those blue eyes of his go cold. Guy knew that look…he'd seen that look before in those same eyes.

This was the first time it really bothered him, though.

"What are you getting at? 'Me and mine?"

Looking up at Guy through his water-matted hair, Will shot the other man a look that somehow managed to speak volumes without answering Guy's question in the least. All the same, it was clear the conversation was over. He'd pegged Will as the quiet type; it seemed he'd been right.

He also didn't seem like the type to stand around, because after a short moment, he started putting out the torches in the more remote parts of the hideout. The single fire pit was all that gave light to the area by the time he was finished.

Guy assumed that meant it was time to go to bed. Frankly, he was alright with that. He had no desire to sit in silence or try to pry an answer out of the younger man; his demons were his to bear if he chose to bear them, and there was nothing Guy could (or, at least, would) do to relieve them against his wishes. If Will wanted to talk, then he would listen, because after everything he had done – and no doubt Will had suffered at his hands just the same as the rest of Robin's merry band – he owed him that much. That was where the obligation stopped, though, and rather than trying to break the silence, he chose to take advantage of it. He was tired, it was quiet for the first time in weeks, and the rain was pattering a sort of soothing rhythm outside.

Seemed to Guy like that was his cue to try to catch some sleep.

Some time later, though, it became more than evident to Guy that sleep wasn't going to come easy that night…if it even came at all. There was something that just didn't sit right with him. Lying there in his bunk, he felt a sort of weight in his chest, a sort of tingle at the back of his neck. There was something the matter, only he couldn't put his finger on it.

He was inclined to blame Will. The younger man had yet to settle in for bed, moving around the hideout. Only the argument didn't quite hold up when he got to thinking about it. Yes, Will was moving around, and he could hear him, but he was awfully quiet. Guy had slept through Robin and the others – Much, especially – being far louder and far more disruptive without too much trouble.

Still, he couldn't help wondering what it was Will was up to. He'd been the one to douse the torches, so Guy had thought that meant he was ready to turn in. Instead, by Guy's best auditory guesses, he was sitting over by that table. He'd heard the lock to the trunk click a little while ago.

A few minutes had passed before he'd heard the hinges creak open. It was clear the chest hadn't been opened in some time, and the cold air had made the metal contract. All the same, the noise wasn't deafening or even loud enough to make Guy stir, nor was the rustling that followed. It was hard to tell what all was in the chest, and Guy, lying in a bunk in the far corner, didn't have much of a vantage to see it from. Not that he even had any interest in looking.

Well, at least, he hadn't. He hadn't cared much at all for a while…but then minutes had passed. Seconds ticked by like eternities, and an odd sort of silence had fallen over the room. There wasn't even anything rustling from the trunk, no clothes shifting, just the sound of the rain beating down on the top of the hideout.

…but then he heard it.

It started softly, faintly…more like a short catch in the ongoing sounds rather than one of its own. As Guy listened harder, though, he started to hear it better. Perhaps it was getting louder…no, it was definitely getting louder. The catch, the interruption, became a noise of its own, stifled but individual from all the other noises.

He couldn't tell what it was at first. It was a familiar sound, but it wasn't one that Guy himself was exposed to enough to know instantly. It took thinking…observation…keen listening. Only then did the other attributes begin to make themselves known to his ears.

Soft pants in rapid succession. The sound of leather boots creaking. A voice, raised in pitch but muted in volume…it was muffled behind something.

Finally, Guy gave up on trying to decipher it. The source didn't readily come to mind, so instead, he pushed himself up on his elbow. Swinging his legs over the side of the bunk, he stood, taking care to duck his head under the bunk just above him. As quietly as he could manage – because it felt to him as though a spell had been cast in the place, listening to that sound, and a single scuff of his bare feet on the ground or creak of wood would break it – he walked into the main area of the hideout. Towards the fire…

Towards Will.

And at last, as Will came into sight, he knew what that sound was.

Will was on his knees in front of the trunk, his head bowed so that Guy couldn't see his face. He didn't need to, though. The shaking of his shoulders and the rocking of his curled-up form…it told Guy enough.

He was crying.

From the looks of things, he was trying not to – or at least, trying not to be heard – and it was a noble effort, but…even from where he was standing, Guy could see his pain. It was so intense, so _complete_ that Guy himself nearly felt it.

He didn't know how to act, so he didn't think about it. Instead, he let his bare feet lead him of their own accord across the room and over to stand behind him. From the new vantage, he was able to see that though he had one hand clutched to his mouth like he was trying to silence himself, the other clutched something to his chest. A bag…a satchel, really, leather and engraved with patterns he recognized to be Turk. Whatever it was, it must have held some meaning that Guy didn't understand, because Will was so fixated on it that he hadn't even noticed Guy's approach.

This…this was an area with which Guy had some experience. There was more than the odd occasion where he'd found himself acting all too similar with some old trinket of Marian's. That pain he heard in Will's stifled voice, that _agony_ he saw straining every single fiber of his being…that was the pain of loss.

"That was hers, wasn't it?" The words slipped out before he could stop them, and Will jumped like he'd been shot. The movement was violent enough that he actually fell back, landing on his ass on the hard floor with his knees pulled up to his chest. His eyes were wide, red-rimmed, and brimming with restrained moisture as they stared up at Guy, equal parts confused, startled, and suspicious.

But then they flicked down to the satchel in his hands, and all of that gave way to an ache so fierce Guy felt as though there was a chain around his own heart squeezing it in sympathy for Will's.

It seemed Will had nothing to say, so Guy prompted him again. "The woman you lost before you came here. The one you loved."

"What would you know about love?" Will snapped, his voice raw and hitched.

Had the circumstances been any different, Guy would've been offended. What did he know about love? About loss?

Everything.

But this wasn't a genuine question. Even if this man had every right to question his humanity, there wasn't an ounce of implication in the tone. It was only pain, only misery; he was lashing out. Guy knew better than to rise to it. In the face of a maelstrom, the stone faired best. Getting agitated would only make things worse, so instead he folded his arms across his chest and leaned back against the support column behind him, hoping instead for a more nonchalant approach.

"Who was she?" he said.

For a long time, Will didn't speak. His fingers traced the etchings in the leather and his eyes couldn't be lifted from the well-worn surface.

But just when Guy thought he wouldn't speak at all, he broke the silence. "Djaq," he said. "Her name was Djaq."


	5. Chapter 5

Djaq…Guy remembered that name. He was generally pretty good with names and faces, and this name tied in his head to a tan-toned face, round, with short hair and a small body. A Turk. A Turk woman…she was one of Robin's merry band.

He'd never really paid much attention to the dynamics of the group besides what he thought was useful: how Robin was the leader, how Allan was the traitor…all the things that he could use against them. That Djaq woman hadn't precisely made that list – neither, for that matter, had Will.

Now that he thought about it, though, maybe it should have. The two of them…thinking back, they did seem to have a bit of a connection. He remembered back when they were searching for Lardner's ring…the two had been in the village together, if he recalled correctly. She had gotten away, and he realized now he had missed an opportunity. What a trap that would have made.

His stomach rolled just thinking about it.

He wasn't proud of the things he'd done serving the Sheriff; he was glad that stroke of malicious genius was only just arriving to him now, when his conscience had taken the helm. Not that it mattered much now. From the sounds of things – and Will's behavior now confirmed it – Djaq was dead anyway.

"How did it happen?" he said after a moment.

Will didn't reply immediately. His gaze was fixed on his knees, his fingers still absently tracing the marks in the leather…he looked to be in his own world, leagues away from the reality Guy was party to.

Just as Guy turned to leave him to it, though, he heard something. A word, so quiet, so clipped, it was almost inaudible.

"Slavers."

For a moment, Guy thought he might have imagined the word, because when he turned around, Will hadn't so much as moved. It didn't look like he'd spoken; his wide-eyed gaze was still so pointedly fixed on the ground as to look like he was alarmed by what he saw there.

But then his lips started moving again.

"It was night when they came. There were so many…they were quiet; we never heard them coming. Djaq woke up first; she had to shake me awake…I was sick – Djaq said I wasn't accustomed to their diseases, that I was lucky it wasn't something more serious…I didn't feel lucky. She woke me up right as they came in. They'd already taken the rest of the house, put them down, tied them up…whichever was more convenient. The ones that would fetch a price. I—I tried to fight them…" He sounded so guilty, so desperate. His eyes reflected a horror visible only in Will's mind as one of his hands left the bag to clench in his hair in a sort of crazed hysteria.

"But you couldn't," Guy said. Of course he couldn't. As capable a fighter as he had proven himself to be, two people couldn't hope to handle a group of slavers. They travelled in groups; it was never a fair fight with them.

He felt a new and acute sympathy for the man before him.

"I tried," Will said. "I tried. I fought and Djaq fought, but there were so many of them. I told her to stay behind me, told her I would protect her…but then she heard him scream."

As he spoke, Will grew more and more agitated. His teeth were gritted in an agonized grimace, and both his hands had found purchase in his hair, twisting in the still-damp locks.

Seeing him, seeing the man before him reduced to such hysteria and pain…he wanted to do something. He wanted to stop it. No human being deserved to suffer that, especially not one so young. He couldn't have had more than twenty years; he bore too many scars for such a short time on this earth.

But something stopped Guy short. It wasn't his place to comfort…not right now, at the very least. It seemed to him like this was the first time these words were breaking from those cracked lips…the first time he'd given his horror voice. As hard as it was to watch, Guy knew the importance of facing one's demons. God only knew it had taken him too long to face his own.

No, he had to let Will acknowledge all the horror, all the trauma. He had to acknowledge the loss…only once he had done that would Guy even consider stepping in.

Too bound by his own inner conflict to notice Guy's, Will continued, his voice growing more and more frantic by the moment. "I told her to stay with me, but she wouldn't listen. I could've protected her. I could've saved her, but he was like her father. She couldn't…I couldn't make her…I'd seen my own father die; she didn't deserve to suffer as I did."

A frustrated snarl made Guy's heart jump just a bit as Will threw his head back against the column he was leaning against. Guy could hear the thud from where he stood.

Will didn't even seem to notice. "I should've stopped her!" he said. "I should've…she got separated. I tried to fight through them, tried to get to her, but by the time I made it to her…" His voice caught, and his jaw clenched like he physically couldn't force the words out.

He didn't have to. Guy knew how this story went. How these stories always went.

"She was dead," he said for him.

"Dying," said Will. "They stabbed her." He was physically shaking from the vision in his head; tears were running down his flushed cheeks. "She stared at me…she looked so scared. I had to get to her."

"And did you?"

Will gave a jerky sort of nod. "Six of them, but they couldn't…they couldn't stop me. They tried. They hit me; I hit them back until I made it to her, and I—I couldn't walk anymore. I couldn't even lift her. My arm, it – I'd gotten hit, and I…" He didn't seem to want to go on.

But Guy wasn't going to let him stop. He took no pleasure in hearing this story; it made his stomach turn…slaving had never been something he supported, and especially not like this. This wasn't about pleasure, though. It was about tearing open a wound and letting the poison seep out so that it could heal.

"And you what?"

"I couldn't even hold her!" Will said, and for the first time, his eyes finally lifted to Guy. The pain in those blue orbs, the self-loathing…Guy felt his insides go to ice. "She was dying in front of me and I couldn't even hold her properly! They dragged me away and left her bleeding on the ground. I had to watch the life leave her eyes, had to watch her die in agony and I couldn't even comfort her."

Guy actually knew more about that feeling than he cared to admit. Having to run in the Holy Land knowing Marian was dying…he knew that pain, perhaps better than anyone else.

But Will's situation was different. The implications of his were far worse, because unlike Guy, Will hadn't run – he'd been forced away. Dragged away…by slavers.

Guy didn't need an abacus to do that math.

"They took you."

The slavers had taken only people that could be of use – Will was easily on that list. Scrawny as he was, he was handy and quick. A strong bloke, once you got past the coltishness and saw the lithe muscles coiled beneath his dirt-smudged skin. They had taken him, and they had kept him.

When Will made no move to deny it, Guy let the chain of reasoning continue link by link…he found he didn't like where it led.

"You were captured and taken as a slave…so then you—" a thought occurred to him "—you didn't happen upon that slave convoy…you were a part of it. One of the slaves."

Will's posture was suddenly defensive. "It doesn't matter." He said.

Guy wasn't convinced. "Doesn't it? Last I checked, a slave's life is an unpleasant one. Traumatic."

"And what would you know of a slave's life?" Will said. There was a new sharpness to his tone, and when he rose and advanced towards Guy, his posture reflected a fury just as intense as the pain in his eyes. "What would you even know of a man's life? A regular man?"

Sympathize as he might with Will's plight, Guy didn't have it in him to simpler. Taking advantage of the two inches' height he had on the younger man, he squared his shoulders and met Will's gaze levelly.

"Normal as yourself? As Robin and the others? Because if that's your basis for normal, then—"

"Normal as the people of Locksley, you arrogant bastard. As the people of Scarborough whom you robbed of every last cent, every last morsel of food. Normal as my family!"

That caught Guy off guard. "Your family?"

Will let out a dark, incredulous sort of chuckle. "Of course you don't remember."

"Remember what?"

"It's not like we mattered – not like you cared to remember the people you sentenced to death. We were like dirt to you; you wouldn't remember the dirt you tread upon."

Like Will, Guy was losing his temper. He was being insulted, and he didn't know his offense. "Do you think you're enigmatic? If you've some complaint against me, I'd have you say it!"

"You killed my mother!"

The outburst seemed to catch them both by surprise, but Will kept going.

"You stole our food, and she starved. Because of you, she wasted away until there was nothing left of her! But it didn't matter what she gave up, because it wasn't enough. My father worked to provide for my brother and I. I worked every waking moment, toiling in the fields or sweating in my father's shop until I could hardly stand, and it wasn't enough! And when I did what I had to do to feed my family and _my_ people, to give them back enough of what you stole from them to keep them alive, you demanded more still."

"You stole from the sheriff." It wasn't a hard guess; many starving peasants had fallen into the same cruel trap. Vaisey had so loved when they revolted.

"It was rightfully ours! Gathered by our hands, by our sweat, by our blood. You had no right to it!"

"But you got caught."

"You should know, Gisborne! You're the one that caught us. The one that paid boys to spy on and betray their friends, and you're the one that stood by as the Sheriff ordered my father's hand cut off. You curl your lip in disgust now, but you did nothing! You didn't even care! He was just another victim, another blade of grass to crush beneath your boot!"

"There was nothing I could do to stop it."

"If you expect my understanding, you'll be _sorely_ disappointed. You know nothing of helplessness, nothing of guilt. I was the only one that could feed my family. I didn't sleep, I didn't eat, I didn't court girls or play games like boys are meant to do. You stole my childhood, Gisborne! You and your Sheriff stole everything from me, and still you tried to take!"

The more Will spoke, the viler Guy felt. All those things he'd done…he knew his sins, but he'd never seen someone so much the victim. Someone so strong, so capable of marvels – the hideout was proof of that – and he had played a role in destroying him so thoroughly.

He was at a loss for words. "I'm sorry," he said, because his tongue could conjure nothing else.

If anything, the words incensed Will further.

"Were you sorry when you slapped me in irons? When you let your men punch and kick and whip me until I could be executed? Do you even know how many times I was bound before your very eyes, beaten by your beloved Sheriff? Do you remember when you smiled when your Sheriff broke my ribs over a bloody bird? It's your fault. All of it! My father, when he—you stood by. You're a monster, and you watched that man slaughter my father in cold blood for trying to save a street of people!"

He shoved Guy fiercely, until Guy's back hit the column. When next he spoke, his voice was no longer loud, but the venom in it…it so potent Guy felt his mind seared by it.

"You say a slave's life is traumatic…you know nothing of the word. All my life, I've suffered because you and yours keep leaving blood on my hands."

Guy swallowed deeply. His mouth had gone dry…sure, he'd been accosted like this before. He'd had mothers condemn him for having their sons killed. He'd had father shout at him for their children starving. In those times, he felt the guilt twist in his gut like a knife.

But even though he'd only known Will for a day, he'd found he rather liked him. No, it was more than that. He respected him. It took a hell of a man to fight off that many slavers, to save that many lives. And that wasn't even considering all the work he'd done with Robin's gang. Especially in light of everything he'd just heard – everything he'd sacrificed for his family. That was…noble. Truly noble, and honorable like one didn't see much in those times.

He felt an odd sort of connection to this young man. The pain he'd suffered was not unlike Guy's own. Forced to surrender his childhood to support his family, forced into circumstances he hadn't wanted…forced to watch the woman he loved die. He'd handled the situations better than Guy had, and for that, Guy knew he was the better man.

And that was why it pained him so much to hear Will lay his crimes before him. Because of all the people he'd met so far, all the people whose opinions he cared nothing for…he'd finally found someone whose did.

"If I'd known then what I do now—"

"It doesn't matter." Will's voice had gone from steely to resigned…there was a sadness there that hadn't been there before. "If you'd known then what you do now, then we wouldn't have been in the Holy Land fighting you and your Sheriff. I wouldn't have forsaken my home to escape the madness of your wars, and I wouldn't have watched the woman I cared for die."

Guy was taken aback. The sudden shift…rage to resignation…Guy couldn't tell if he had simply vented his temper, or if he was just too tired to keep it up. Either way, "How can you say that doesn't matter? After everything you've told me…if I could take it back, if it had never happened…if I'd _known_…how could that not matter?"

"Because you didn't know, and I did watch her die," Will said. For a long moment after, there was silence, and then Will put a hand on Guy's shoulder. It was almost…forgiving, the gesture. Accepting. "And now you're here, helping Robin, and I'm here running away from slave traders, and the world goes on like it always has."

"You should hate me."

"I should hate myself. I let her go."

"You said yourself you tried to reach her. You were one man against six."

To Guy's surprise and confusion, Will shook his head. "No...no, I let her go before that." He sighed, and he seemed to deflate with the breath, like every ounce of strength he had was gone in that very instant and a weight had settled in its place. He turned from Guy, then, and walked over to sit down on the edge of his bunk, and Guy turned just the same to watch him. "I never wanted this," Will said after a moment, gesturing vaguely to the hideout around them. "I wanted to be like everyone else. To work my craft and feed my family. To find a woman and marry her and have a son to teach just like my father did. I never wanted to be an outlaw or a hero or whatever it is we are to those people out there."

"Then why did you?" Guy said. The tone was more conversational now, and he was curious. He wanted to know about this man before him. He wanted to understand the mystery of him. How he could seem so average at first glance and be so extraordinary in truth. It fascinated him.

"Why did you serve the Sheriff?" was Will's response.

"Because I didn't have another option." It was an answer he'd long known for himself.

Will nodded; he actually seemed to believe him, and for that, Guy was grateful. "My reason's the same, sort of. I had a certain set of skills and not a lot of options. With Robin, I could get what I needed to support my family…what's left of it, anyway. Everything else didn't matter as much."

Guy knew the feeling all too well. The story wasn't over yet, though. "And Djaq?" he said. "What was her role in this?"

A flicker of pain flashed across Will's face, brief but intense. He was doing an admirable job keeping his composure, even though his foot bounced on the ground and his eyes stayed fixed on his wringing hands.

"I thought she was my chance. I thought she would be the way that I could have what I wanted…to get away from all of this."

"You loved her." It wasn't a question.

"More than life itself."

"But…?" Because Guy sensed there was more still.

That seemed to be the crux of the situation, because Will's shoulders sank even more. His head bowed into his hands miserably, and Guy could practically feel the remorse rolling off him in waves.

And then he said it.

"But I wasn't _in_ love with her."


	6. Chapter 6

Guy had never seen a man look so conflicted in his life. Will looked as if he were being physically torn between two things. "I loved her…still love her."

"That wasn't in question," Guy said. And it wasn't. Clearly, this man loved that woman. Whatever _way_ he loved her, he loved her.

"But I didn't love her the way I thought I did. She…I thought I wanted to marry her. I thought she was the one I'd settled down with, make a home for. But it wasn't like I thought it would be. We never…it wasn't like that. I wanted it to be, but…I've never had a sister, but I think that's what it'd be like, and—" he paused and let out an almost disbelieving sort of chuckle "—and why are you still listening to this?"

"Because you need to talk," Guy said, "and I seem to be the only one here to listen."

That got a hint of a chuckle from Will. "That you do," Will said softly. After a moment, though, he looked up, a question on his face. "Why is that?"

"Why is what?"

"Why are you the only one here? Matter of fact, why are you here at all?"

The question didn't catch Guy by any sort of surprise. In point of fact, he thought it was a wonder he hadn't asked it sooner. No, the question was simple; the answer was not quite so. It required some thought…how much did he wish to tell, how much did he wish to keep close to his breast?

As he thought, absently, he lowered himself to the ground. He leaned back against the column, crossing his arms over his bent knees. It was difficult to find a starting point, he realized; it seemed to him this had been in the making since his childhood, if not since his birth. That was farther back than he cared to go, and certainly farther back than he thought Will would care to listen.

So instead, he went with something more recent. "You've heard of the new Sheriff?"

Will cocked his head to the side. "I haven't," he said. "Haven't heard much of anything, really. Since I came back to England, I've been—" he paused, his eyes cutting downward and his throat bobbing "—where I _was_, word didn't really make it 'round."

Guy hadn't thought of that. Slavers…Christ, he hadn't thought…he'd been with them the whole time?

He tried not to think of what they'd been doing to him the whole time. Slavers were notoriously cruel…and this man before him needed suffer no more cruelty. He'd already suffered too much.

Clearing his throat, Guy made a mental note to avoid any conversation that might lead to that. It was clearly too fresh a wound to share, and Guy respected that boundary. Instead, he set to his own wounds, mending as they were.

"Vaisey is dead," he said. "I killed him."

That seemed to catch Will by some surprise. He looked up, his eyes wide and his expression one of shock and confusion. It seemed only fair to give him a moment to collect himself – no doubt such a revelation, especially to someone with as much proximity as Will, would put a man out of sorts – so Guy waited patiently, watching as Will took in the information.

The shock didn't fade, but it was soon joined…overruled. Tears welled in his wide eyes…not so much grief as disbelief. He watched his jaw clench, his hands wring – a nervous habit of Will's, he'd noticed – as the realization slowly set in.

And then he cleared his throat, brushing his thumb across his nose and sniffing as he blinked back the tears. Hiding it, stifling it.

"That's…" he nodded, searching for words and _subtly_ trying to master the hitch in his voice. "That's great. About time someone finally did."

"Perhaps."

Will's eyebrow quirked. "You say that like there's something the matter." He'd no sooner said it, though, than it seemed to don on him. "There's something the matter."

"Perceptive, aren't you?"

"Facetious, aren't you?"

This time, it was Guy's turn to arch his brow. "That's a large word. I'm impressed."

"You're irritating's what you are," Will said under his breath. "Are you going to tell me what's the matter? If the Sheriff's dead, then what—"

"There's another sheriff."

"He's a tyrant?"

"_She's_ a cold-hearted wench," Guy said, and then sighed. If he was going to tell the story, he might as well tell the whole of it. "She's also my sister."

That got Will's attention. His head cocked to the side like it seemed to always do when he was confused or surprised, and he seemed to sit up just a little straighter. "No love lost, then?"

"She meant to have me executed."

"You escaped." It wasn't a question; obviously, Guy was still there.

Guy nodded, but frowned. He _had _escaped, but not without help. There was a pang in his chest as he said, "The woman that saved me was not so lucky." He smiled softly…he still remembered her, her youth, her kindness…. "She is the reason I'm here. My sister and Prince John need to be stopped."

"Looks like we have something in common after all, then."

Guy smirked at that. "The enemy of my enemy?"

"Might as well…" said Will, craning his head up towards the ceiling as if he meant to listen to it. "From the looks of that storm, we're stuck here for another day or so yet."

"Lovely," Guy said. He wasn't too keen on the idea of being stuck in one place for one day, though he supposed it wasn't all bad. At least he wasn't stuck with _Much_ for one day – or more. He'd actually taken a shining to the coltish young man…his voice wasn't nearly as abrasive, and his presence wasn't nearly as obtrusive. He was kind of…pleasant to be around. There was something peaceful about him…honest.

It was a rare thing, Guy thought. Unique. He…well, he fancied it. The peace, the honesty, the bright blue eyes, the angular face, the soft smile, the coltish limbs, he fancied the lot of it.

He fancied _him_.

And he really wasn't quite sure where that left him.

Guy blamed it on fatigue; his mind tended to go to strange places when he was tired, and this was certainly a strange place. It had been a long day, he reasoned. The battle had been a hard one, and with the rain and the late hour, it was no wonder his head was out of sorts.

Pushing himself to his feet, he dusted off the back of his trousers. "We should turn in," he said. "Come morning, if the rain's slacked up, we'll scout for the others." Without giving Will time to speak, he started dousing some of the miscellaneous fires throughout the hideout until the only one burning was the main fire in the grate.

When he finished, he cast one last glance at Will. The younger man had made it back over to his trunk, but he had stopped short. He was staring down at it, worrying at the fraying edge of his overlong sleeve.

It occurred to Guy that he probably meant to get some clothes – his were still damp – but he probably hadn't worked up the courage to face the contents of the chest again just yet. Guy didn't blame him; in fact, he took pity on the young man.

"Here," he said, walking past Will and kneeling down in front of the chest. There were clothes the same ilk as the ones the others wore – ones he recognized vaguely, in tones of tan and brown – all folded neatly near the top, and he pulled them out. He thought for a moment, and then closed the chest; let Will face those demons later. In the meantime…

He handed Will the clothes. "Get changed," he said, and then he turned back for his bunk. Will could get changed by his lonesome.

As he was settling into his bunk, though, Will started talking again. From the rustle of clothes he heard in the interim, he assumed Will was changing just out of sight.

"Remember when I…" rustle, shift "…called you a monster?"

"It's not something one forgets easily," was Guy's reply.

There were some more rustles, a couple of catches in Will's breath. "I didn't mean it."

"Sounded like you did."

"Well…" a pause "…I did. I did mean it."

Just what Guy wanted to hear. "Thanks."

"No, that's not—" Will let out a curse, though Guy suspected that might have more to do with the thud he heard directly prior than his frustration at the turn of conversation. "What I mean is…you're not all bad. When I was mad, I meant it. All the things you did…you've got to admit they were pretty foul..."

"I never denied it," Guy said. And he never would. He felt the guilt of his crimes every day.

"Yeah…" Will came back around into sight, sitting down on the bunk on the other side of the hideout. "But it wasn't fair…I didn't…that's just a part of you," Will said, scratching sheepishly at the back of his head. He seemed to have a bit of trouble finding words to say what he wanted.

It was alarming how endearing Guy thought it was.

"The other part's not so bad, though." He sounded almost cheerful when he said that, like he was telling Guy some sort of good news. "When Nottingham was about to be burned down…I'd have fought alongside you, then."

For some reason, that struck Guy as one of the greatest compliments he'd ever been given.

Guy allowed himself a small smile, knowing at the very least that no one would see it. "I should be grateful you decided to fight alongside me today."

On the other side of the room, Will let out a chuckle. "You're right; you'd have been over the barrel without me."

"I wouldn't go that far," said Guy, though he knew that in all fairness, Will was probably right. Pride wouldn't allow him to admit that. "But thank you. I would the circumstances had been different."

He heard Will let out a sigh and heard the rustle of blankets: presumably Will settling in for the night. "That makes two of us."

Yes, yes it did.


	7. Chapter 7

Guy didn't know, at first, what it was that woke him up early that next morning. It wasn't until he rose, until he swung his legs over the side of the bed and paused there for a moment that he heard it.

Soft breaths…the rustle of fabric and muted groans. There was but a momentary confusion as to its source, but then Guy rose. Walking quietly across the den, he made his way over to where he knew Will to be sleeping.

It was in the weak light of the rising sun that he saw the sight that waited for him. Will was indeed sleeping, but it seemed only just. The sleep was restless – with each passing moment, Will shifted and stirred, but never quite woke. The sweat on his flushed face and the seemingly contradictory tremors wracking his form showed the source for his discomfort: he was feverish.

To confirm his suspicions, Guy walked to the edge of the bed and carefully pressed the back of his hand to Will's furrowed brow. The heat he felt there worried him; it was more than a simple fever. He was not merely warm to the touch, but hot.

Of course, the touch brought about another unwelcome reaction. He'd no sooner felt the heat of Will's skin than he was dodging away from a blade that had somehow appeared from beneath the pillow under Will's head. Or, at least, the pillow that _had_ been under Will's head. The pillow remained, but Will's head was gone from it.

In the split second it had taken Guy to dodge away from the dagger, Will had sat himself up as well as the overhead bunk would allow. Other than the wrist Guy had managed to catch – he'd grabbed it on reflex when he was avoiding the blade – he'd tucked as much of himself back against the ball as he could.

It was clear he'd startled him, but it seemed to Guy like it was more than that. It was more than nerves that colored those fever-bright eyes; it was fear. Real fear.

But then, just as soon as Guy caught sight of it, it was gone. Awareness and recognition cleared the haze of fright and left in their wake a sort of confusion. A disorientation, like he was searching for an explanation of what was going on and couldn't quite manage to get his hands on one.

Guy imagined it was the effect of the fever. They had a tendency to cloud minds, especially the worse ones. And this, it seemed to Guy, was certainly one of the worse ones.

"Easy," he said, watching as Will's eyes darted around. It was as if he couldn't quite manage to focus on one thing, like he was trying to take everything in, but his mind couldn't process. He needed to get his attention focused on one thing so he could get him settled enough to talk. "Will...Will, look at me."

It wasn't until Guy snapped his fingers in front of Will's face that the young man's eyes finally found their way back to him. Wide as they were and as hard as Will was breathing, Guy might've been inclined to think he was going into fits. Only, he knew better, He wasn't going into fits; he was sick. Though how much so and with what remained to be seen.

"Tell me what's the matter," he said.

That, it seemed, made it through whatever daze the fever had left Will in. His jaw clenched visibly. "I'm fine," he said, and as he did, he made to pull his arm back from Guy.

Guy didn't miss the wince that crossed his face. Apparently, the pain that brought about the expression was enough to make him drop the knife as well, though Guy's attention was too focused elsewhere to follow the blade on its journey to the floor.

He'd forgotten about Will's wrists, about the welts there. What's more, it seemed now that he was getting a closer look at them, he realized they were worse than he'd first thought. The welts were raised, swollen and, under Guy's hands, bleeding. He hadn't meant to grab him there; his stomach turned as he realized there was now red on his hands to match the red on Will's wrist.

His stomach turned further to realize that it probably wasn't the first time he'd had Will Scarlett's blood on his hands.

He forced the thought away. He had more pressing matters to attend to…Will needed seeing to.

"Come here, then," he said, letting go of Will's wrist in favor of offering him a hand. He needed to get him to come out from the bunk at least far enough for Guy to reach him. Preferably to the bunk closest to the kitchen, where he wouldn't have to be ducking under another bunk. That one was out in the open air where Guy could tend to him.

Will wasn't privy to all that, though, and so at Guy's instruction, he only looked confused. Confused, and suspicious, though Guy couldn't fault him for that. After the life he'd led, especially in the last few months, he was permitted his cautions.

Besides, Guy found himself with a surprising abundance of patience of late. Not in general, just…there was something about this young man. He didn't pity him…it was something else. Something deeper.

"You need looking after, and I'm too old to be crawling around places trying to get at you. If you let me, I mean to help you over to that bunk—" he pointed very deliberately at the kitchen, well enough that Will could see from his hiding place, "—where I can get a proper look at you."

Pause. Wait for Will to understand, to think about it. He looked uneasy about it, and not altogether eager to move it seemed, but eventually, he did start to push himself forward.

Guy stepped back to give him room to get his legs swung over the side, but as he did, he started noticing other things. For someone as graceful as Will, he seemed to be having an awful lot of trouble getting up. He kept his left arm folded across his lap as he scooted forward and didn't even make to move it as he took the hand up Guy offered him.

"Watch your head," Guy said, because the last thing he needed was for Will to knock himself out on the bunk above.

Of course, he figured out not long after that Will's head was actually the least of his concerns. As soon as he had helped Will onto his feet, the younger man's legs seemed to buckle beneath him. It was all Guy could do to get hold of him before he went down, and when he went to pull Will's arm over his shoulder, the younger man cried out.

Judging by how quickly he muted it, Will hadn't meant to make the sound. However, intentional or not, the cry was awfully telling. The arm he'd tried to use had been Will's left, the one he had been favoring earlier. It seemed too much for coincidence, and so as Guy shifted around to Will's other side to do the same, he made a note to find out what was wrong with it. He remembered, he'd mentioned something about his arm being hurt in the slave raid….

First things first, he needed to get him sitting down before he fell down. Mercifully, the younger man was as light as he looked, and with Will's arm over his shoulder and his own arm around Will's waist, he managed to walk him over to the bunk in the kitchen.

It didn't escape Guy's notice as they walked, either, that Will got a little heavier whenever he stepped with his right foot. He was trying to keep from putting weight on it.

Tacking that to his rapidly-growing mental list, Guy continued with Will until he managed to get him sitting on the bunk. It was worrying, how much the seemingly-minute effort had exhausted him; he was breathing hard, and his thin hands were shaking, his palms slicked with sweat.

Immediately, Will went to lie down. He was tired and sick; he could hardly be blamed. But alas, he couldn't; Guy couldn't let him lie down while he still had no earthly idea what was the matter with him.

"No, you don't," he said, catching Will by what he'd pegged as his good shoulder. With it, he held Will upright. "Take your shirt off."

At that, Will gave him a look that, to a less perceptive man, would have seemed confused. No doubt, the fever's lingering haze had stolen from him some of his normal acuity. Not that much, however, and Guy saw through the mask of confusion to the doubt beneath. He was defensive…unsure. Like a skittish colt, not quite ready to yield to surer hands.

Guy sighed. "I'm not an idiot," he said. "You're favoring that shoulder…and your leg, for that matter. The right one."

"I'm fine."

"I'm sure." And if he sounded skeptical, it was because he was. Will had spent too long in the hands of slavers. Those men, if they could be called men, were notoriously cruel, vile cretins with a penchant for taking out their frustrations on the poor souls unfortunate enough to find themselves their prisoners.

Beyond that, Guy knew from experience the way these men worked. From both sides of the line. The stronger the man, the more sick the pleasure they took in breaking him.

And there was no doubting it – Will was strong. But he was also hurt, and that made the situation difficult. Scared as he was, he needed help, and as Guy was the only one around to give it, this was the way it would have to be.

"Just leave me be," Will said. "I'm tired…I want to sleep."

"You'll sleep once I've had a look at you."

Perhaps it was Guy's unyielding persistence, or perhaps Will was simply too exhausted to argue, but after a long moment, he finally let out a sigh and started tugging his shirt off.

It became clear very quickly that he was going to need help. With the way he couldn't quite manage to get his arm rotating properly to get it over his head, Guy reasoned there was certainly no way he manage without help.

So, Guy went to help him. He reached for Will's shirt, only to hold up his hands inoffensively as Will flinched back.

"Easy," he said. "I'm only trying to help."

"I can manage," Will said, and in truth, he sounded a little agitated. Maybe it was youthful pride – he really was little more than a child, despite the many things he'd seen and experienced that were so far beyond his years – or maybe it was something else. Guy knew what it was like to be backed into a corner, to know he was out of options. He knew what it was like to cling to every ounce of independence he had left.

Still, though he could sympathize, though he could empathize, he would not do him the disrespect of sheltering him. He'd suffered so much at the hands of others; the least Guy could do was tell him the truth.

"No," he said. "You can't."

He realized the moment the words left his lips that they might have been a little too blunt. He believed in honesty, but he didn't believe in unnecessary cruelty.

As Will's already flushed-face brightened and his brows furrowed, Guy sighed.

"There's no shame in needing help," Guy said. "You've already born this admirably. You save those people…you saved yourself. That's something to be proud of." And this time, when Guy reached for him, Will didn't flinch back. Guy's hand fell to his uninjured shoulder firmly…reassuringly.

For a long moment, neither spoke. Will, because he was clearly fighting to process what Guy had said. Or maybe just the fact that it had been Guy to say it. And Guy said nothing because he'd said all he had to say.

Finally, though, Will dropped his head and his hands went back to the hem of his shirt. Though he tensed when Guy made to take the shirt from his shaking hands, he allowed it, and with as much caution as could be applied, Guy managed to pull the sweat-dampened fabric over Will's head.

What he saw when he managed was enough to make even Guy's stomach churn. It wasn't that it was the most gruesome thing he'd ever seen. After his many years as Sheriff and his time in the Holy Land, he'd seen things that civil men, that decent men, could never fathom.

At least in those places, though, it had been a fight. Men had a chance to defend themselves; they had the choice to survive, or they were too weak to do it. Horrible as it often was, at least it was natural: the strong killing the weak.

But this…this was wrong. Long welts, some healed and some still raw, peeking over his thin shoulders and around his pronounced ribs spoke of vicious lashings. Bruises riddling his muscled, yet emaciated belly told tales of beatings he hadn't been able to defend himself against. The swelling of his left shoulder, the odd shape of it and the faded colors mottling it revealed a wound that had never been allowed to heal properly.

"What did they do to you…?"

The words slipped from his lips on a stunned breath, quiet and utterly accidental. He'd seen horrors before and faced them stoically, but this he could scarcely stand. Someone so strong, so young, so undeserving…to have suffered so much at the hands of those vile, loathsome cockroaches…it was too foul a thought for Guy to stomach.

The look that darkened Will's face in response did little to quell the fury boiling in Guy's chest. "It doesn't matter," he said, his eyes cast to where his hands wrung in his lap.

"Does nothing matter to you?"

"Why should it?" Will said, and his voice was sharp again. Angry. Or hurt. There was no doubting the fire in his eyes, only what it burned for. "What would it change, then? Nothing! The wounds wouldn't heal. The pain wouldn't stop. The pain never stops."

There was something so intense…so bone-crushingly _miserable_ in the words. They did not belong in the mouth of someone that should be so full of vitality. Someone so capable of wonders…of beauty. To have such an ugly view of the world...the boy had a good heart; Guy could sense it. And he'd seen…Marian, _Meg_ had shown him, sometimes all it took was knowing kindness, of being reminded it could exist in the world, to bring it back out again.

In truth, kindness was not a strength Guy knew himself to possess, but there were no other options. Even if there had been another, Guy wasn't sure he would have let it fall to them. Never before had Guy felt so inexplicably drawn to another person…he felt Will's pain in that moment almost as if it was his own. Perhaps because it was. Because it had been, before someone had done for him what he knew needed to be done for Will.

He needed healing, for the flesh and beyond. The latter would have to come in time – perhaps it was already in the works – but at the very least, Guy could see to the former.

"It doesn't," he said finally, earnestly. "Not completely. But it fades, and it can be salved. A kind heart can do wonders." Like Marian. Like Meg.

Will cut his eyes up. "Like yours?"

At first, Guy thought he was being cruel. That he was lashing out. But then he saw it – the spark. Just a flicker, little more, but it was something. Spirit. Maybe even mirth. It was the man, clever and _bright_, coming to life just beneath the pain. And in the face of that one glimmer of hope, Guy couldn't help the soft smile that pulled at the corners of his lips.

"Yes," he said. "Like mine."


	8. Chapter 8

Regrettably, a kind heart could only accomplish so much. It could help to mend the deeper scars...help to mend the soul. But emotional wounds were not the only ones Will had, and there was very little kindness could do in the way of mending those.

Instead, hours of bandages and stitches, of cool cloths and comforting mutters had finally found Will's flesh mended as best as Guy could manage. He was no healer, but he knew enough to clean, stitch, and bandage all the wounds and to mix a poultice for the bruises from Tucker's supplies. There were some things he hadn't dared try his hand at. Will's shoulder was beyond a simple dislocation. It had swollen too greatly for him to try to relocate it, and trying would only mean more pain for the already agony-ridden youth.

And indeed, he was in agony. Guy had been as gentle was he could, but there was no way to painlessly thread skin back together or splint legs. He still wasn't entirely sure what was the matter with Will's leg, but bending it seemed to cause him pain, so he'd splinted it and elevated it.

Now, Will lay on the open bunk near the kitchen, shivering fiercely despite the blankets Guy had laid over him. Sweat beaded down his pain-lined face, and his chest rose and fell quickly with sharp breaths. In truth, Guy almost wished he would pass out. He'd been close several times, throwing up twice when Guy was trying to stitch his back, and it would have spared him the suffering. But it seemed he _was_ a stubborn one, and he clung to his consciousness tenaciously.

"The worst is over," Guy told him softly as he traced the lines of Will's face with a cool cloth. At first, Will flinched away from the cold, but he no longer seemed to have the energy. Guy realized he would need to get more water soon; he'd used more than he'd thought trying to clean the caked blood and grime from the younger man's lithe form. He wouldn't leave him now, though. Not like this, in so much distress. It would have been cruel, and Guy couldn't bring himself to so much as rise from the stool he'd pulled over. Instead, he dipped the cloth in the basin of cool water, wrung it out, and went back to wiping the sweat from Will's flushed cheeks. Again, Will flinched. "Easy...sleep, now."

For a few moments, Will was silent. His breath started to even some, and Guy thought he might be going to sleep. Not long after, though, Will tried to shift. He barely managed to much as a twitch before he froze in place. A piteous sound escaped his drawn lips and drops of moisture that were not sweat slipped from the corner of his green eyes as he opened them.

He was fighting sleep, Guy realized. His body was exhausted, but his mind was unwilling to let go. Perhaps he was still wound too tightly for it; perhaps he was in too much pain. But if he had been dozing off, Guy thought he _could_ sleep. Now it was just a matter of getting him settled enough to do it.

He wasn't entirely sure what possessed him to do it, but Guy found himself brushing his thumb across the wet tracks on Will's cheeks. "You're alright, little one. You're alright."

Slivers of green stared up at him, closer to closing by the moment.

But not before he spoke. "Why are you doing this?" Will asked, his voice rasped from the few screams he hadn't managed to bite back and the heaves he hadn't managed to curtail. Guy's heart jumped at the question. He had an answer he could give...but he didn't think it was right. His motivation was deeper...it wasn't something he could explain right then. Why _was_ he doing this? Really?

_Because I think I'm in love with you._

The thought caught Guy off his guard and he straightened quickly. His heart pounded in his chest, his pulse thick and entirely too fast. He was genuinely startled by his own mind.

It occurred to him, though, that that sort of behaviour probably seemed odd. However, when he looked to see Will's reaction, he found he needn't have worried.

Will was asleep.

Guy didn't move immediately. Instead, he sat, watching the now-steady rise and fall of Will's chest. The tension hadn't all left his face, but the lines had softened considerably He took in the way his dark hair framed his pale face, the way his nose came to an almost pixie-like point and his long lashes cast soft shadows over his high cheekbones. The sight was...picturesque.

Beautiful.

Will Scarlett was...beautiful.


End file.
